One Shenandoah Winter (9 page)

The younger man noticed their approach, looked up, and stiffened in wary surprise. He was tall and lanky in a manner Nathan had come to recognize during his time up here, muscles like steel strapped to a frame etched from the hills themselves.

He wiped nervous hands down his trouser legs. “Well, hi there, Miss Connie. Poppa Joe said I could come by and—”

“I'll get to you in a minute, Duke Langdon.” She stopped by the washtub, gave the contents one glance, then said to the old man, “I brought him like you said. Now you can settle something once and for all. When did you buy your Hudson pickup?”

The old man seemed to unwind as he rose to full height. He was taller even than the young man, a rickety giant of a man.

Nathan could not help but stare. The old man had a face carved of the same granite as the mountains. His chin pushed out to where it appeared ready to touch the hawk-billed nose. Silver hair as thick as a lion's mane swept back from a broad flat forehead. But what planted Nathan firmly where he stood were the man's eyes.

Nathan's first impression was of a painting come to life. The old man had the deep-hard gaze of pictures he had seen as a boy, pictures hanging on the walls of the Smithsonian in Washington. The paintings had sent shivers down his spine and seemed to bring all the history books alive. The faces were of Revolutionary War heroes, whose gazes had pierced with impossible determination. Their eyes had reached out to strike him where he stood, searching across the centuries and demanding of him to be more than what he found comfortable. They had always seemed to ask of the younger Nathan,
Are you worthy? Have you earned what we fought and died for?

The old man glanced his way only briefly, but it was enough to penetrate with that same severe passion. Poppa Joe said, “This is how you was brought up to introduce folks, daughter?”

“Nathan Reynolds, Joseph Wilkes. Everybody alive calls him Poppa Joe. And this is Duke Langdon. The boy I don't know.” She waved it all aside with an impatient gesture. “Now tell me when you bought your truck, Poppa Joe.”

“The boy's name is Henry, Hank for short,” Duke offered. His voice carried traces of the same tone and manner as Poppa Joe's. As did his face—all overlaid with the softness of an easier life. “He's the child of some good friends of mine. Say hello to Miss Connie and the doc, Hank.”

The boy mumbled something, not looking up from the washtub.

Poppa Joe Wilkes looked blown from the cannon of untrammeled adventure. There was not an ounce of fat on his frame, nor a single soft line to his face. And his eyes. “I bought that there Hudson Terraplane in nineteen and thirty-six. And it sounds to me like you two have done climbed my mountain with a quarrel.”

“There. Nineteen thirty-six. Just like I said.” But there was no triumph to her tone. Connie crossed her arms and took a step back. “The smarmy doctor's done finally got something wrong.”

“Daughter, I don't hold with talk like that, especially with first-time visitors. You oughtta know that by now.” Poppa Joe walked over and extended his hand. “Welcome, Mr. Nathan. It's an honor making your acquaintance, sir.”

“Likewise.” Nathan accepted a handshake as hard as leather-covered stone. He hesitated, finding himself suddenly bashful. “I don't mean any disrespect, sir, but that truck of yours was made in thirty-four.”

Connie snorted and kicked at a pebble.

“Now that may well be. I done bought it as a Christmas present for my Mavis, God rest her gentle soul. Picked it up the middle of January. Them was hard times, and folks didn't hold with change and fashion like they do now. It could've been a leftover.” The old man looked skyward, his eyes holding a power to peel the heavens apart. “Heavy snows that winter. Had a dickens of a time getting it up my hill.”

Connie stared at him, a look of utter consternation on her face. “You never told me that.”

“Guess it didn't seem so all-fired important before. Don't seem so all-fired important now, neither.” He had a way of speaking which was both gentle and commanding, as though he had long been comfortable with times of quiet. “Come on over here, Mr. Nathan. Got something you might like to see.”

Nathan allowed himself to be guided over to the washtub. He shook hands with Duke. Then he looked down at the washtub, and said, “What on earth.”

“Had a buddy whose dog whelped not long back.” Duke's voice was quiet and slow. In time with the place and the old man. “Good hunting hound.”

“The best,” agreed the little boy, kneeling back down. “And Uncle Duke is buying me one of the puppies for my birthday. I'm gonna make him the best hunting dog what ever lived. You just wait and watch how I do with him.”

“Well now, we'll just have to see about that, won't we.” The old man eased himself down in slow, gradual stages. A long-fingered hand reached for the rim of the washtub and lifted it. Out tumbled seven whining, squeaking little puppies, all black and white and brown. They fumbled about on their oversized paws, shivering and sniffing the strange scent-laden air. “Sure do got the look of good hounds, don't they.”

“Pick me out a winner, Poppa Joe,” the boy said.

Duke explained to Nathan, “Never did meet a man who could spot a prize hunting dog like Poppa Joe.”

“A winner ain't just in the picking, boy,” the old man said. “You got to put in lotsa hard hours training him.”

“I will, Poppa Joe.” Hank's voice was solemn as his eyes. “I promise.”

“All right, let's see now.” He moved the puppies about like he was stirring a pot, pushing them, watching them move, stroking a gentle finger down their backs.

One of the puppies began following the finger as it moved, batting it with one timid paw. Poppa Joe picked him up, cradled him for a minute. “Need to let the fellow know your scent. No dog is raised up good with lessons alone. You got to give him love, and lots of it. Like little boys in that way, ain't they.”

“I'll give him love every day, I promise, Poppa Joe.”

“Fine, son. That's just fine.” He stroked the puppy's muz- zle, then set it down. Again the dog tried to hunt the hand, giving a high-pitched bark when it moved. “Feisty little fellow. Now let's see if he knows how to mind.”

Poppa Joe stiffened his fingers and moved with lightning speed, popping a hand down on the hind quarters. The little dog squeaked its protest, but sat down. Poppa Joe moved his hand out in front of the dog's eyes, keeping it there. Nathan observed the heavy tremor which the old man could not control. The puppy sat where he was, head cocked to one side, and gave a tiny whine.

Poppa Joe rose slowly. “That there looks like a good'un to me.”

Hank scooped up the puppy and held it close to his chest. “I'm gonna call him Duke. Like my uncle, 'cause he's my very best friend and he's promised to teach me hunting.”

The tall young man said gently, “What do you say, now?”

“Thank you, Poppa Joe. Thank you, Uncle Duke. This is the bestest present I've ever got in my whole life.”

“That's good, son. That's good. Now pick up those other puppies and put them back in the tub.” Poppa Joe straightened with the stiff motions of the very old. He dusted off his trousers and said to Duke, “You got a good hand with the young'uns, son. When're you getting around to starting a family of your own?”

Nathan watched Duke cast a nervous glance over to where Connie was kicking another pebble. “Been thinking about that very thing.”

Poppa Joe gave a single nod of approval. He then turned to Nathan and said, “I ain't heard talk of any family, Mr. Nathan.”

“I'm not married, sir.” It seemed incorrect to call such a stately man Poppa anything. “Never had the time.”

“Ought to make yourself time for that.” The strange mix of gentle strength robbed the words of any sting. “World can be a hard and lonely place without family.”

Connie spoke up for the first time since receiving news of the truck. “This from a man who's been alone more years than I'd care to count.”

“God granted me the perfect wife,” the old man replied, clearly untouched by his niece's ire. “He gave us nigh on forty perfect years together. I don't know why He chose to take her from me, but He did. Mavis in memory is a finer thing than ever a second wife could be in body.”

Hank used his free hand to pluck at Duke's sleeve. “Would you ask him, Uncle Duke?”

“You got yourself a voice, boy. Ask him yourself.”

He cast Poppa Joe a shy look. “But he might say no.”

“Never know until you try. Go ahead, now.”

The boy swallowed. Nathan found himself staring at something he had not seen in years—a child struck by hero worship. “Poppa Joe,” the boy stammered.

“Yes, son.”

“Sir, will—will you show me your shootin'?”

The old man was about to say no. Nathan could see it in his face. But then he looked not at the boy, but at Nathan himself. A single piercing glance, before he said, “Don't see why not.”

The boy gave a little jump of delight, causing the puppy in his arms to squeal in alarm.

“Careful, now. Hand your dog to Duke. Connie, honey, think maybe you could find a soda pop bottle and my gun up in the house?”

She said nothing, just turned and walked up the steps. When she was inside, Poppa Joe asked more quietly, “Is her quarrel with the doctor or with you, Duke?”

“Me,” Nathan said. “I'm sorry that—”

“No sir, Doc, you got that one wrong.” Duke inspected his hunting boots. “I was gonna ask you about that too, Poppa Joe, but what with her showing up like this . . .”

He let his voice trail off as Connie reappeared carrying a glass bottle, a long-barreled rifle, and a box of shells. She handed them to her uncle, shot Duke a fiery look, and strode back a ways. Duke offered the ground at his feet a weary sigh.

Poppa Joe looked from one to the other, then turned to the boy and said, “Son, run this here bottle out and set it on the corner post back there by the woods.”

The boy took the bottle, started away, then realized what he had just heard. He pointed and said, “That post out yonder, Poppa Joe?”

“Looks like a good one to me.”

The boy turned and looked at his uncle. His eyes were round moons. Duke said mildly, “Let me have the puppy. All right, run on, now.”

“But, Uncle Duke, that's—”

“Go and do what Poppa Joe said.”

“Yessir.” Hank scampered off.

Only when the boy was halfway across the broad meadow did Nathan understand. The boy ran down the length of a ramshackle split-rail fence, headed for the
last
post. It was so far away that by the time Hank got there, all Nathan could see was the dark head bounding through the tall grass. Carefully the boy reached up and steadied the bottle, then turned and waved and sped back. Poppa Joe did not look in the boy's direction. Not once.

His eyes on the sky and the sunlit horizon, Poppa Joe said, “Mr. Nathan, think maybe you might like to stay up here with me a night? Evenings can be right pleasant up here in the hills.”

Nathan already had the polite decline formed and in his mouth. Then he caught sight of Duke's expression. The young man was looking at him with something akin to awe.

Once more he felt caught up in things he had no understanding of. Yet there was something else now, a whisper as gentle as the afternoon breeze, a sense of being offered something priceless. Nathan found himself thinking of the old man's gaze, and almost in spite of himself, he said, “I'd be honored.”

“That's good. That's real good. Duke, why don't you bring yourself back up tomorrow morning, give the doc here a ride back down to town.”

“Sure, Poppa Joe. Glad to do it.”

He pitched his voice slightly higher. “You hear that, daughter?”

“I'm hearing. But I'm sure not understanding.” Connie put her hands back on her hips. “Why on earth would you have a stranger up here, when you won't even see friends you've known all your life?”

“Just offering the doc here a little homespun hospitality. Ain't nothing the matter with that.”

Connie shook her head, allowing her shoulders to droop. Nathan found himself sensing her confusion and defeat, which was very strange, for he had not felt anything except his own distress for a lifetime and more. Yet he did, and found a rightness there as well. What else could possibly be his first shared feeling other than the same confusion and defeat which had so scarred his own past few years.

Nathan found himself wishing there were some way to cross the gap between them, to step over to her and say something of comfort. But the act was beyond him. The moment and the sense of sharing was just too new. So he stood and watched as Connie walked to the car and opened her door.

Connie halted with one foot on the doorsill and called back over, “I've got to go to Richmond tonight. Something's come up.”

“You have yourself a good trip, daughter.” Poppa Joe rammed back the bolt-action lever. Then he had trouble picking a bullet from the box and fitting it into the barrel. His hands shook so that Nathan could hear the bullet rattle and scratch across the metal. “Don't work yourself too hard, mind.”

Connie did not respond. She just stood there, leaning against the door. Watching.

Poppa Joe waited until the boy had returned and caught his breath. “All right, son. Now tell me what kinda wind we got ourselves here.”

“Yessir, Poppa Joe.” Hank dropped to his knees. His brow furrowed with concentration, he lifted a bit of earth and crumbled it, watching carefully as it drifted down. “Ain't hardly any at all, Poppa Joe. Just a little from the north.”

“Yep, ain't much now. But you watch. Gonna be a blow tonight, and tomorrow we're gonna wake up to winter. North wind, he always starts quiet like. Moves like a big old hawk, riding the currents, silent and crafty and carrying death in his claws.”